


Lift Me in the Air

by theheartbelieves



Series: There's A Space I Made; There's A Line I Drew [1]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Biting, Denial of Feelings, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murphy is kind of a bastard, Murphy snatches that V-card, Murphy's mottled everywhere, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 03, Telepathic Bond, featuring bratty power bottom Murphy, literally everywhere, post Merch's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartbelieves/pseuds/theheartbelieves
Summary: 10k dreams about Murphy. It leads to an interesting outcome.





	Lift Me in the Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murdergatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/gifts).



> TW//
> 
> Canon compliant dubcon. Murphy really likes to toy with that line between dub and noncon.
> 
> \---
> 
> I apologise for any canon inaccuracies. *handwaves while muttering "artistic license"*

10k can’t sleep.

No. That’s not quite right. He doesn’t want to sleep.

When he sleeps, he dreams, and what he dreams about is Murphy - that insufferable, smug bastard. It’s not enough that he rules every waking moment of 10k’s life, now he can’t even escape him in sleep. So 10k sits on the roof of the powerstation every night and does his best to stay awake.

He tells himself that he’s standing lookout. It gives him something to do, to focus on, even though with the zombie moat, a human lookout is moot.  _ If  _ he’s even human anymore. He isn’t sure. Not human. Not zombie. And not one of Merch’s blends. But something decidedly  _ not human _ .

His head lolls and he tips to the side, barely catching himself. He straightens and props himself more firmly against the dormer where he’s wedged.

No, 10k doesn’t know what he is. He’s something new and scary. He tries not to think about it. Just as he tries not to nod off. He fails on both accounts. He doesn’t even realise he’s fallen asleep until he’s inside the dream. 

10k always knows when he’s dreaming on the rare occasions he does. In the apocalypse, who can afford to lose themselves inside dreams?

_ There are arms wrapped around him from behind. 10k knows the arms belong to Murphy - even though he knows the arms are stronger; the body pressed against his back, broader than reality. Despite that knowledge, it’s… nice. To be held. _

10k knows what’s coming. He fights to wake up, but it’s no use.

_ There’s a low chuckle in his ear, breath rustles his hair and then… lips on his neck and an electric shiver down his spine. Murphy kisses him above the collar of his shirt. _

10k falls into wakefulness with a myoclonic jerk. He tightens his arms around his rifle, pulls his knees closer to his chest, and stubbornly ignores his painful erection. He won’t give Murphy the satisfaction of watching him squirm. He’s not sure the game the blue bastard is playing, but 10k refuses to take any part in it.

He stays sitting until the sun turns the horizon pink and his limbs are aching and stiff. Another long day of sleep deprivation to look forward to; another day of trying to resist Murphy’s compulsions.

\---

Days pass and 10k struggles. It’s easy to zone out and let Murphy take the wheel but 10k never contents himself with the easy route. He fights and it wears him out, the fighting. One day blurs into the next until 10k is walking through a constant haze of Murphy’s voice in his head and Murphy in his dreams and a desire so thick and overwhelming that he chokes on it.

It finally comes to a head when 10k falls asleep on his feet next to Murphy’s throne while he’s talking to some newcomers. It’s not even a stumble. He merely shifts his foot; barely a sway. Nobody notices.

Murphy notices.

The room comes back into focus and Murphy’s head is turned his way; his face in profile. He’s paused whatever he was saying and raised an eyebrow. 10k refuses to acknowledge the man and stares straight ahead at the room. He’s there to be a prop; The Murphy’s personal guard. He can’t stand the thought of Murphy’s eyes or attention on him, but even when Murphy faces forward again, 10k can feel the weight of Murphy’s mind - prodding, questioning, and concerned. It’s nothing like the orders he’s gotten before. It’s worse; a forced, intrusive intimacy.

The first chance he gets, 10k escapes up to the roof. Nobody come up here. He’s alone and nearly collapses into a fitful sleep. He thinks it’s safe since Murphy is busy.

He’s wrong.

His exhausted mind is susceptible and he dreams of Murphy; the usual a familiar fog of eyes and teeth and  _ heatpressurefriction _ of blue skin. 

_ “Knew you couldn’t resist, Tommy. Knew you wouldn’t- _ ”

He jerks awake to Murphy’s strange irises. He’s knelt down on the roof, hand on 10k’s shoulder. He’d sneaked up on him. 10k bats away Murphy’s arm.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Woah there, kid. Retract the claws.” Murphy holds up his hands but 10k knows better than to assume he’s harmless. Murphy is the  _ opposite _ of harmless. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like your normal bitchiness has been turned up to eleven and - no offense - you look like shit.”

“Looked in a mirror recently?” 10k sneers and slowly sits up. His body aches. His head aches. His-  _ Fuck. _ He’s hard again and he draws his knees up to hide that fact, though he doesn’t know how Murphy can have failed to notice it.

Murphy studies him, eyes narrowed. That same pressure at the back of his mind prods curiously.

“ _ Get. Out. Of. My. Head _ ,” 10k growls and  _ pushes _ back against the intrusion. Murphy’s eyes widen and he wobbles on the balls of his feet as if 10k had physically pushed him.

“Fine.” Murphy stands and looks down at him. His posture and expression bely his casual, annoyed tone. “If you’re going to act like a petulant child…”

10k rests his head on his knees and immediately regrets it, because it bares the back of his neck to Murphy’s gaze. His cock throbs and he’s overcome with a complicated feeling so large that he has to grit his teeth against acting on it. He wants to scramble to his knees and cling to Murphy - to beg him for mercy or beg to give him what he needs, he doesn’t know. But that’s where he’s at. He’s ready to plead for this to stop.

After a protracted moment, Murphy finally turns and walks away, leaving 10k to his desire and misery. He touches the back of his neck, fingertips tracing the marks there before digging his nails into his skin. The pain helps turn his hopelessness into anger. How dare Murphy act like he  _ cares _ when this is all his damn fault.

10k stays curled like that until night falls. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t know if he’s capable of sleep anymore. He exists in a liminal space that is neither wakefulness or dreaming, and in that land, he runs the moment where he pushed back against Murphy’s hold over and over in his head.

He considers the possibility that it was a fluke; some coincidence or hallucination coinciding with Murphy losing his balance.

But he doesn’t really believe it.

When the chill of night rouses him enough, he tries  _ reaching _ for Murphy in his mind. He feels ridiculous doing it; thinks he may have finally gone mad. He remembers how it feels when Murphy takes control of him and he tries imitating it. Something inside him shifts, like the view coming into focus through his scope.

Murphy is asleep.

_ Good _ . 10k smiles and gets stiffly to his feet. It’s time they have a chat, one-on-one, like the old friends they are. But it’s going to be on 10k’s terms.

\---

It’s far too easy to inch along the stone ledge that runs underneath the windows to Murphy’s bedroom. 10k doesn’t have to check that he’s there. Now that he’s forced open this  _ awareness _ , he can feel the man’s presence in an uncomfortable way.

He jimmies open the window with his knife and climbs up onto the sill. He crouches there, waiting for any movement in the dark and letting his eyes adjust from the relatively bright moonlight. Slowly, the room reveals itself. It’s fairly empty except for a bed, and not just any bed: a four-poster, canopied thing.

_ Of course _ .

He steps carefully down and creeps across the floor. His heart is pounding. He feels more awake - more  _ alive _ \- than he has in weeks. A thought strikes him like a dowsing of cold water. He could kill Murphy. He could. He  _ could _ . He could kill him just like he killed Cassandra. It’d be  _ just _ . It’d be  _ mercy _ .

His new little trick will only work once, so if he’s going to kill Murphy, it has to be now but he can’t summon the determination. Even as he’s repeating the mantra -  _ mercy, mercy, mercy _ \- in his head, he knows it’s a lie and he can’t even pretend it’s because of The Mission anymore. Something has changed inside him; changed between them.  He hates zombies. He hates whatever Cassandra had been turned into. He  _ hates _ Murphy. Not because of what he is - he’s… well, he isn’t human but he for darn sure isn't a zombie - but because of everything he’s done and everything he’s failed to do.

But his hatred doesn’t have the teeth it once did. Doc had told him once about prisoners bonding with their captors and the two of them have taken turns playing those roles. 10k fears it’s something more insidious than that; that Murphy’s gotten inside his head irrevocably.

All the same, he wants to prove a point while he still has the element of surprise. 

Murphy is on his back, head turned away from him, one arm flung up on the pillow. He looks more alive in sleep than usual. 10k would have thought seeing Murphy like this - topless, maybe even… naked - would take away some of the man’s haughtiness, but he’s still impossibly aloof even in his stillness; still poised.

How  _ dare  _ he sleep so easily. 

10k clings to his anger and resentment for his ability to have something that’s been stolen from him. Rest. He just wants to rest…

10k clambers onto the bed, kneels on Murphy’s legs, plants a knee on the arm by his side, slaps a hand over his mouth, and has his knife pointed up under the man’s chin before his eyes have the chance to snap open.

“I’d suggest you don’t move,” 10k whispers through that same rictus smile that’s lodged itself in place since this plan half-formed in his head. Murphy’s eyes narrow. The free hand on the pillow curls into a fist.

10k feels that push-tug of compulsion - _ Drop the knife  _ \- but he ignores it; lets it slip off of his consciousness like water. Murphy goes absolutely still, eyes surprised.  _ Yes, _ 10k thinks. _ I’m not yours to control anymore. _

“I think we need to talk. Or rather - I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. Okay?”

Murphy clenches his jaw. 10k can feel the muscles shifting under his fingers. It strikes him once again how Murphy can seem so  _ alive _ when he isn’t. 10k gets a small nod that he takes to mean  _ If you must _ . Even without speech, Murphy is still a sarcastic bastard.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at with these dreams, but I’m asking- I’m  _ telling _ you to stop it. It’s not  _ funny _ . I don’t care what kind of… sick-  _ Whatever _ … if you get off on it or something. Stop.” 10k leans harder, pressing his palm down until he can feel Murphy’s clenched teeth behind his lips. He wants to hurt Murphy. He wants to kill- no. He  _ wants  _ to want to kill him, but even now, he can’t summon the desire.

What he wants is for Murphy to fight back.

Something jerks tight and low in his belly and he lets up on the pressure, but stays curled close and in Murphy’s face. He’s caught off guard by the strength of his wanting.

“I just want to sleep. You leave me alone and I’ll- I’ll do what you want. I’ll stop fighting you,” he hisses. “I want you out of my head. Or else…”

He means it to sound threatening. Instead, he just sounds tired and pleading.  _ Great _ … 

The hand laying open next to Murphy’s head twitches - 10k’s eyes dart to it. Murphy opens his eyes wide and innocent. 10k doesn’t buy it for a second and it must show on his face because he gets an eyeroll. Murphy slowly moves the hand, lifting it cautiously and slowly, then peeling 10k’s hand away from his mouth.

“May I give a rebuttal to these accusations?” He sounds so reasonable and calm that 10k finds himself nodding before really thinking. For a second, he’s afraid Murphy’s reasserted control, but no, 10k is just tired and worn out from all the sleepless nights and constant fighting.

Now that he put his frustration into words, he feels drained and empty, like the anger was the only thing keeping him upright. He could collapse right here beside Murphy - despite hating him; despite wanting nothing to do with him - and sleep for days.

“These dreams are of a sexual nature, I’m assuming?”

“No!” 10k denies but feels his face grow hot, contradicting him. Murphy’s fingers are pressed over the pulse point on 10k’s wrist. There’s no way he can miss how 10k’s heart rate jumps.

He expects Murphy to smirk at this knowledge; for him to, at the very least, tease him about it. Neither of these things happens. He merely tilts his head the slightest bit, curious; as if seeing 10k in a new light.

“Interesting.” Murphy’s strange eyes study him for far longer than 10k finds comfortable, but he refuses to squirm or break the silence. Then Murphy sighs, a strange mixture of resignation and something 10k doesn’t recognise. “Well, they’re not coming from me. Not that you’ll believe me… Now-”

He makes to push 10k off of him, but 10k presses with the tip of his knife, feeling the skin give slightly under the honed blade. The small  _ pop _ of released pressure is so very satisfying. 10k grins.

“ _ Ow!  _ Hey! I  _ told _ you-”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I told you you wouldn’t!” They glare at each other for a beat. “What do you want me to say? I’m not here to fuck around with you. I’ve more important things going on than gas-lighting some petulant twink. Sorry to burst your bubble. Not that I could even  _ do _ what you’re describing.”

Anger bubbles up in 10k gut - hot and urgent. He want to draw blood, he want Murphy to suffer the same way he has. The knife in his hand trembles with barely held restraint, but he can’t bring himself to apply any more force, just like he couldn’t kill the bastard. Something in the back of his mind won’t let him.

Impulsively, he leans down and  _ bites _ Murphy’s blue- and flesh-mottled chest- on the left pectoral, right over his heart.  _ If he still even has a heart…  _

“ _ Fuck!  _ You little-” 10k clamps down, cutting Murphy’s protest off into a pained hiss. He digs his teeth into the muscle, hard enough to draw the blood he wants. He releases suddenly and sits back to admire his handiwork with a smug smile. Another mark to join the old, twisted scars of the attack that made Murphy  _ The  _ Murphy.

A mark as payback for the one 10k permanently bears.

They’re hardly what 10k would call even, but it’s a start. He’s hardly ever seen Murphy look so surprised. Murphy’s eyes are wide and staring incredulously up at 10k- no, not at 10k, but at his  _ mouth _ . 10k can taste blood on his tongue. He must have it smeared on his lips. He wants to wipe it away, but both hands are occupied. 

He doesn’t think. In a detached, horrified compulsion that has nothing to do with Murphy’s control over him, he licks the blood from his lips. It tastes…  _ good _ . But 10k doesn’t have time to think about how wrong that is.

Murphy twists his wrist free of 10k’s grip and touches two fingers to the wound.

“Regular fuckin’ Hannibal Lecter,” Murphy accuses.

“I don’t know who that is,” 10k mutters, still stunned that he just licked Murphy’s blood from his lips. Murphy opens his mouth and 10k knows - he just  _ knows _ \- that something pedantic is about to come out of that damned mouth.

“Ah… on second thought. Best you don’t know about him. Wouldn’t want you getting any ideas.” His attention is fixed on his fingers. There’s a strange expression on his face.

It’s only then that 10k realises… Murphy is hard against the back of his thigh. And what’s even more mortifying is that 10k is too. He tries not to blush. He fails and is grateful that he’s backlit by the window. He hopes it’ll hide the state he’s in.

For a moment, he thinks that maybe he’s asleep and this is all a dream. He almost hopes it’s a dream. Murphy touches his fingers to his tongue, eyes darting up to meet 10k’s gaze, and he’s forced to admit this isn’t a dream. In his dreams he never sees Murphy, he only senses him. There are never any details, just sensations and desperate, maddening longing.

Right now, he’s seeing far too much of the man as he closes his lips around his fingers and sucks the blood from his digits. If 10k hadn’t already been aroused, that alone would have done it.

Suddenly, Murphy moves. 10k is still fixated on the sheen of saliva as Murphy draws his fingers from his mouth. Murphy somehow manages to yank his pinned arm free and curls it around the back of 10k’s neck, touching the bite there.

All 10k knows after that is blackness. He doesn’t dream.

\---

10k wakes up on his cot in the dark. He doesn’t remember going to bed. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. In fact, he hasn’t used his cot - situated in a small room, little more than a closet; the only place he could find with a deadbolt - in the last few weeks. He feels groggy, overheated, and disoriented.

Then he remembers his dream: straddling Murphy, holding him at knifepoint,  _ biting him _ .

10k groans and flings an arm over his eyes, resolutely ignoring what he’s pretty sure now is a permanent erection. He refuses to get rid of it on principle. He won’t give Murphy the satisfa-

Memory slams into him, clearing away the haze and arousal. He sits bolt upright.

It hadn’t been a dream. He’d actually broken into Murphy’s room and- 10k groans for an entirely different reason. What the fuck had he been thinking?

He blames the poor judgement on the lack of sleep, but he knows that he’ll have to face whatever punishment Murphy comes up with for him now. Knowing Murphy, it’ll be imaginative and humiliating. Hell, it’s a shock that he’s not chained up somewhere, now that Murphy knows he can resist him. 10k had as good as threatened to kill him.

10k peeks his head out of the door, expecting a guard to be waiting, but the hallway is empty.  _ Strange _ . It’s midday judging by the light.  _ Even stranger _ . He grabs his rifle and goes to find- he’s not sure. Will, maybe? Certainly not Murphy.

He wants to suss out how much trouble he’s landed himself in before trouble comes looking for him. He’d much rather face it head-on. Not for the first time, he curses his inability to just  _ run _ . It had always served him well before.

But no, Murphy went and turned his entire life on its head. He has 10k on what amounts to a damn psychic leash.

He goes to Murphy’s meeting room, skirting wide around his  _ throne _ . Both room and chair are empty, but he pauses to look out the windows and immediately spots Murphy, surrounded by his usual posse. They’re moving amongst the asylum-seekers’ camp outside the moat; Murphy making his regular appearance as their  _ messiah _ . 

Well, there’s one question answered.

Then Murphy abruptly halts, turns around, and looks up at 10k. 10k jerks back from the window, clapping a hand over the bite mark on the back of his neck. He can feel his heartbeat throbbing underneath his skin as if the wound were brand new. A spike of panic jolts through him and he scrambles to the bathroom on this floor. It isn’t functional but it has a cracked mirror.

He tugs down the back of his collar and cranes his neck to get a glimpse. Relief washes through him. The bite looks just the same as it did, faded and ugly. Still, it twinges when he runs his fingers over it.

Murphy had done this to him. He’d been dying on that sub. He’d known it - they both had - and Murphy had done this, even knowing how 10k felt about Cassandra… 

10k presses fingertips into the brand - because that’s what it was, really; he  _ belonged  _ to Murphy, just like everyone else here - hard enough to feel the shape of the vertebrae underneath. Why couldn’t the man have just left him to drown?

Even as he thinks it, 10k knows it’s not really something he wants. He doesn’t want to be dead, even if this… half-life is his only alternative. But Murphy has taken the choice away from him and 10k will never forgive him. 10k’s life since Day One has been a series of choices between life or death; shitty choices, to be sure. But they were  _ his. _

Anger flares in him and he thinks about Murphy down in front of the building. His anger bumps up against something - surprise… irritation… weary resignation… acceptance; feelings that aren’t 10k’s. 

They’re Murphy’s.

10k turns his attention away, fleeing back to his room and locking himself inside. The door does nothing to shut Murphy from his mind. He tries imagining a door in his mind, shutting it tight and bolting it. It helps a little. 

He doesn’t  _ want _ this. Of  _ course  _ there’s a price for his freedom from Murphy’s influence - nothing is ever free in the apocalypse, despite Doc’s claim to the contrary - but this confusing, intrusive  _ intimacy _ is nearly as bad as being under his thumb. 10k’s choices are no longer life or death, they’re puppet or plaything. He won’t have it. It’s not a choice he’s willing to make.

Even now, when he’s not focusing exclusively on Murphy, he can feel the vague outline of what the man is feeling on the edges of his mind - tiredness, satisfaction, and under it all, an urgent anxiety. It buzzes in 10k’s ear like a fly.

10k sits on his cot, rifle across his knees, and waits. It’s only a matter of time before Murphy summons him.

He falls asleep waiting and doesn’t dream.

\---

He wakes up well rested and  _ angry _ . Weeks and months of struggling for snatches of sleep and suddenly, he’s sleeping like a baby.

“Murphy,” he growls to himself through gritted teeth. He gets up and goes looking for the man responsible. “When I said  _ get out of my head _ …”

He finds everybody gathered for dinner. It’s not until he storms into the room does he realise it’s evening and he’s starving. They all look up when 10k blunders in. Everyone, except for Murphy.

“Good for you to grace us with your presence, kid. Join us,” the man says, voice light yet mocking. 10k feels a wave of vertigo and it takes him a second to make sense of it.

Murphy’s emotions don’t match his tone. 

He’s so thrown, that he doesn’t protest. He takes his seat and is immediately distracted by the food. He ignores the small talk going on around him and inhales everything on his plate. He hasn’t taken the time to get to know anybody present - save Will and he’s certain they’ve nothing to talk about beyond they weird rivalry the Blend has started over Murphy’s favour - and he feels a little bad about it now that his head is clear for the first time in months. But not bad enough to ignore food in favour of smalltalk.

By the time the hollowness in his stomach has abated, Murphy has excused himself from the table.

He can’t help himself. He searches for where the man has wandered off to, using his newfound ability, and finds Murphy in his bedroom. It’s kind of cool to be able to track Murphy like this. That is, until Murphy pushes back against his prodding with unchecked exasperation. It’s an unambiguous  _ Go away _ .

10k blushes, grits his teeth, and turns his attention back to his food, but he’s lost his appetite. He slips away unnoticed and climbs to the roof.

As bad as it had felt to be Murphy’s puppet, now he feels directionless. For the longest time, Operation Bitemark had been his purpose and his family. He misses Doc and Addy and Warren. Murphy had snatched that from him, but in a strange, twisted way, had tried to give 10k something - a poor substitute, and again, nothing 10k would have chosen, but… 

Without either of these things, what does 10k have?

He silences his mind - that state he falls into when shooting - and looks out over the compound. The sun is setting. It’s peaceful; quiet. For the first time in a long time, 10k  _ exists _ in the moment and lets the rest fall away. He breathes in. He breathes out. The cold metal of his gun is a comfort across his back. Simple.

His hatred slips from his grasp along with the rest of it - his biases and personal history - and 10k can perceive Murphy clearly for the first time: fear. So much fear. Murphy is afraid all the time.

10k stays up on the roof long after the sun has sunk below the horizon. He’s still tired and he supposes he should sleep, but he wants to sit with this clarity for just a while longer before descending back into conflicted confusion. He can feel when Murphy falls asleep, the buzzing of his worry waning slowly to background static. His tiredness tugs at the back of 10k’s mind, so 10k gets up and makes his way back to his cubbyhole.

He walks by several guards on duty but none of them stop him. He gets polite nods from each of them. This new freedom is a bit disconcerting. It feels like… a clumsy apology. He runs into Will in the hallway outside his room and picks up that the man has been waiting for him.

“Evening,” Will says, inclining his head. He looks sharp and professional in his suit, as usual.

“Yeah. You too,” 10k answers cautiously.

“I’ve a message from The Murphy.” 10k grimaces at the title. He can’t stand that these people are buying into the idea that Murphy is some sort of saviour. He was just a man - a small, terrified man - just like the rest of them.

“Figured.” 10k adjusts the strap of his rifle. His gun isn’t designed for close quarters but he can still brain the asshole with it, if he needed. With his free hand he gestures impatiently.  _ Get on with it. _

“Your services will not be needed for the foreseeable future.” 10k isn’t sure what’d he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. “You’re free to leave the compound as long as you don’t try running away. Again.”

Will smirks and 10k knows that last bit was all him, not Murphy. With that, the smug bastard turns on his heel and walks away. Apparently, Murphy’s holier-than-thou attitude is catching.

“Great… Just great,” 10k mutters to himself, locking himself into his room. It’s dark and windowless. He lays down on his bed and stares into the void above him, letting his eyes slowly adjust until the small amount of light leaking under the door lights up the space as good as daylight for him.

What is he going to do with his time if he isn’t expected to be Murphy’s left-hand man? He pushes away the irrational feeling of rejection. Murphy is giving him exactly what he asked for, in the most Murphy way possible. Even the man’s apologies were backhanded. 10k decides Murphy can have his petty little revenge or whatever this was. He’ll take the freedom.

10k casts his thoughts in the direction of Murphy’s slumber and wonders what the fishing is like around here as he slips into what he hopes is dreamless sleep.

He’s wrong.

He’s barely nodded off before he surfaces, gasping for air like he’s drowning. His heart is pounding, he’s drenched in sweat, and he is utterly, desperately, achingly  _ hard _ .

“God dammit…” 10k curls his hands around the rails of his cot and holds himself still. Murphy’s mind presses incessantly against his. The man is asleep, and yet reaching for 10k from inside his dream.

10k squeezes his eyes shut and immediately regrets it. He can  _ see _ what Murphy is dreaming about. The images are faded, vague things, but it’s enough for 10k to recognise the scene, even if it’s from a different perspective. 

_ The submarine. 10k  _ is  _ Murphy. He looks down at his own body, unconscious on a table. He’s filled with urgency, purpose, and conflict. There are sirens sounding from every direction. _

_ And then he’s gathering himself up in his arms, dragging himself up and off the table until he’s held against his - Murphy’s - chest. Despite the chaos around them, Murphy noses into 10k’s hair - an alarmingly tender gesture. _

10k tries pushes back against Murphy’s thoughts, but he can’t get purchase on the dream. It’s an amorphous, slippery thing that engulfs him and drags him under and inside. There’s no way 10k can fight it. It’s like being caught up in a current. He’s tumbled, disoriented, until he lands - not into Murphy’s body as he’d first been, but his own.

Murphy’s dream is far more solid that 10k’s ever were. The details are sharper, the sensations more intense, and the emotions-

_ The sirens fall away, leaving them alone in the cramped space with just the sound of their breathing - Murphy’s fast and 10k’s slow. He’s limp in Murphy’s arms until the man brushes his lips against the hair at the nape of his neck. Murphy’s holds himself rigid and tense, and then all at once, presses his lips to the top of 10k’s spine and pulls them flush together. _

_ Murphy groans against his skin and 10k’s breath hitches. Murphy is hard against his ass and he realises he’s brought his arms up to cross over where Murphy is holding him, no longer unconscious or even pretending to be. 10k had never felt  _ this _ in his own dreams, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s experienced it in real life now or because Murphy is supplying the information but- _

_ “Tommy,” Murphy murmurs. The use of his name goes straight to his cock. Then there are teeth on neck and it  _ hurts _. 10k gasps, but instead of trying to fight his way free, he arches his back. He doesn’t know what he’s doing but his body guides him. He grinds back against Murphy’s erection. He grabs one of Murphy’s hands, fingers sliding between the other man’s, and guides it down so that their intertwined hand cup 10k’s hard-on. _

A small, distant part of his brain screams at him, but he can barely focus through the desire.

_ “I. Hate. You,” he pants as Murphy shakes his hand away, nimble fingers unzipping 10k’s fly, and slipping his hand into 10k’s pants. _

_ “You don’t.” Murphy licks the bite on the back of 10k’s neck and it stings - awfully, wonderfully. Murphy ruts once, slow and lingering, against 10k’s ass. “You know you don’t.” _

It’s true; he doesn’t, and the utter shock of the truth allows 10k to wrench himself out of the dream with such violence that he tips his cot over. He ends up on all fours on the concrete floor.

He doesn’t hate Murphy. He’s still filled with impotent rage, but it’s not aimed at Murphy. No, he feels something much worse for Murphy.

10k slams his fists against the ground, grinding his teeth against the inevitable and irresistable tug of Murphy’s mind and the dream. The pain is enough to keep him out of the dream and firmly in his body, but it doesn’t lessen the lust that has his body lit up like a powerstation. 

Finally, he gives in. He fumbles with the zipper on his jumpsuit, and then he has himself in hand. Months of sexual frustration coalesce in a rush and it only takes a few quick strokes before he’s coming, mouth pressed against his fist on the floor to keep his shout muffled.

He stays frozen like that for what feels like ages. His body aches. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding himself tense until now; for weeks, maybe longer. His jaw is sore from clenching it. His knuckles and spine crack as he slowly stretches. Satisfaction and shame battle for control.

He pushes both away and rights his cot, flopping back onto it. He tucks himself away again, then flings an arm over his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the mess he’s made of himself and the floor. All of that can wait.

It can wait because Murphy is awake.

10k shies away from his presence, utterly mortified. He does everything in his power to make his conscious small, so as not to draw the man’s attention. He curls onto his side, making himself as small as possible physically too.

He wants to know if Murphy realises what just happened.

He never wants to know.

10k holds contradictory truths inside his heart and doesn’t sleep.

\---

The next day, 10k dreads seeing Murphy. He doesn’t dare to locate him in his mind as it would be counterproductive in his quest of avoiding him. He doesn’t want to touch the strange connection they have. He wants to be as far away from this place and Murphy and the scene of the mutual violation last night.

It’s a small relief that Murphy seems to be avoiding him too.

10k grabs his weapons and slips out through the camp out front, heading for the river, past the falls. He doesn’t know exactly what he intends to do until he gets there. He’s functioning on pure instinct and that instinct is  _ run _ . He jogs a few miles until he finds a calm section and strips off his clothes. It’s almost too chilly this time of the year to be doing this, but the sun is warm on his skin as he attempts to wash the jumpsuit.

He hangs it from a nearby branch, sets his goggles and weapons at the water’s edge, and wades into the teeth-aching cold of the river. He submerges himself for a quick second and comes up shivering. He dunks himself again, repeatedly running his hands through his stiff hair until he’s combed some of the grime from it. He gasps as he scoops handfuls of gritty, coarse sand from the riverbed. He scrubs his arms and legs, then climbs up onto a boulder and lays on his back.

The stone has absorbed heat from the sun and soon he’s warmed up enough that the tremors subside. He breathes deep and looks up into the clear blue of the endless sky. There’s nobody for miles. He’ll hear if anyone - human or zombie - approaches far before they reach him. He lets himself relax and dry.

He’s far enough out that he can’t even sense Murphy beyond a general knowledge of which direction he can be found. It’s still annoying, but it’s the most privacy 10k’s had since Murphy had decided to bite him. And it’s the most he was likely to see anytime soon.

He knows Murphytown has a proper laundry and baths, but his stubbornness refuses to let the place get the slightest hold on him. He doesn’t want it to ever feel like home. Home is still out there somewhere. He just needs to find it. 

This limbo is just temporary, he tells himself. After last night… if  _ that _ becomes a repeated occurrence, he can’t imagine he can possibly stay. He can’t imagine Murphy will  _ want  _ him to stay. As little as he knows about the man, 10k knows that he values his privacy. His privacy allowed him to maintain the image that made his whole empire run. He can’t afford to have someone like 10k see behind the curtain; can’t risk 10k exposing him.

He doesn’t  _ think _ Murphy will kill him. Not after saving him. Not after… whatever this was between them. Best 10k can hope for is being sent away - maybe to guard Lucy or spread the good word. Neither much appeals to him, but both will give him ample chances to slip away and find his friends.

With a twinge, he realises that he can’t even do that. They’ll want to know where Murphy is and how to take him down, and… something huge had shifted inside 10k. It doesn’t feel like something planted there by Murphy. This  _ bond _ had given 10k a glimpse at the man behind the mask and he doesn’t want to tear him down off of his pedestal anymore.

Much as he deserves it. 

The memory of Cassandra is still a poorly healed wound; more so than his own…  _ turning _ . He still feels- mostly - himself. Cassandra hadn’t been herself in the end.

10k wonders what makes him different from Cassandra. The bite had been the same. The only difference he can think of are Merch’s boosters, but now, after weeks without, he isn’t showing the same slide towards  _ strangeness  _ that Cassandra had. And he isn’t turning blue like Murphy.

No, he’s clearly something different. Something new, given the way he can resist Murphy’s control unlike the others.

So what is he?

10k closes his eyes and watches the sun through his eyelids, a suffuse orange light. He files the question away with all the other ones he’ll probably never have an answer for.

Without the questions to occupy his mind, he can’t help but think about last night. Even now, too far for Murphy to sense his emotions or for anyone to be a witness, 10k blushes at the lust that immediately tenses in his groin.

Murphy had been so…  _ different _ in the dream. He’d been careful and worried and almost tender. 10k had only ever seen the man afraid or full of bluster. He’d slipped inside Murphy’s skin and now he can’t shake how it felt to be the man. It seems so obvious now that Murphy is all of these things and a lot more besides.

10k hates that he knows this.

What baffles him is the nature of the dream. Last night had made it clear that what’s been happening isn’t intentional. 10k must have been picking up Murphy’s thoughts, but… Murphy can barely seem to tolerate him. 10k isn’t so naive to believe that dreams mean much, but for his nightmare - Murphy biting him in the claustrophobic, sinking submarine - to take such a abrupt turn… 10k doesn’t know what to do with that.

The real question is who had planted this seed of attraction that had sprouted, strangling 10k like a clinging vine?

He huffs out a sigh and sits up, sliding down from the boulder. This train of thought is fruitless. He doubts he’ll ever really know how the hell they’d ended up  _ here _ , and he doesn’t want to accidentally drift off while his brain chases itself in useless circles. 

The sunshine and breeze have mostly dried his clothes. He puts them back on and grimaces. They’re stiff with whatever was suspended in the water. He’ll eventually have to cave and hand them over to the laundry, which means having to find something new to wear.

He runs a hand through his hair. At least it feels cleaner than it has in a long time. It’s actually soft. He’d forgotten that. The way it flops into his eyes is annoying until he pushes it back with the bandana and goggles. Maybe it’s time for a haircut too. A whole new 10k for Murphy’s brave new world.

10k barks out a laugh - loud in the solitude - then shoulders his gun and starts the walk back towards… if not home, then bed. After months of delirious illness, sleep deprivation, and little activity, he’s beat. He still takes his time, relishing his newfound freedom.

He’s nearly back to the powerstation when he feels Murphy looking for him, a curious niggle in the rear of his brain. It tickles, and he pushes back with amused irritation -  _ I’m coming _ . He knows he’ll be late for dinner, which is probably why Murphy’s searching for him, but he doesn’t care. He’s got Murphy’s number now and it’s far more embarrassing for him than for 10k.

He smirks at the guards out front as he strides back inside. No one stops him. He can get used to this.

\---

Murphy isn’t at dinner. 10k can feel him like an itch at the base of his skull. He’d been starving but Murphy’s absence robs him of any appetite. He finds himself absently rubbing at the itch while he mechanically eats. Every time his fingers touch the bite, he gets a stronger sense of Murphy. He knows it’s most likely the power of suggestion but he can’t help but feel as if Murphy can tell he’s dwelling on things.

10k lingers until the end of dinner and helps clear the table. Not having a role makes him feel too much like a freeloader, but the awkward silence that hangs between him and the nervous-looking girls washing dishes makes him miss Addy and Doc all that much more.

He wants to blame Murphy or Merch or… anybody. But it’s just  _ life _ . Life is unfair, especially life in the freaking zombie apocalypse.

He keeps his head down and goes to wipe down the empty table. As soon as he leaves, the girls start chatting. He catches faint snippets of their conversation:  _ Murphy’s killer… they’re not talking… you think?... I’m just sayin’ _

A wave a fatigue drags at him. He’s tired of fighting; tired of being on the outside of things. 10k leaves the washcloth on the table and goes back to his room. It doesn’t matter if he tries finding a place here. Murphy has marked him as special. Even now, with Murphy ignoring him, 10k is singled out. He isn’t sure if it’s by design, but Murphy has isolated him.

10k locks himself in his windowless, dark, cramped room, and is feels a weird, gnawing sensation inside his chest. It takes him a while to identify it.

He’s lonely. He can’t even muster any anger to push the unbearable sensation away.

\---

10k doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, he’s not in his room.

He’s in Murphy’s. The space is empty but bathed in light from the full moon spilling its pale reflection across the floor and bed.

He rubs his eyes, limbs moving slow and heavy like he’s moving through quicksand. Did he sleepwalk here?

“What the-”

“I think we need to talk,” comes Murphy’s voice out of the darkness. The man himself steps towards him and 10k can feel that Murphy was hiding not in the shadows, but from 10k’s mind. The effect is disconcerting - both in that 10k didn’t feel Murphy doing it and that it makes Murphy seem like he materialises from the gloom. 10k can  _ feel  _ Murphy’s smirk more than he sees it. “Don’t you?”

He steps primly over to his bed and sits down. He pats the mattress at the end of the bed next to him.

“Take a seat, kid. I don’t bite.” His fingers twitch up to briefly touch his dark shirt over his heart - over where 10k had bit him. 10k’s matching bite pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat. Murphy isn’t dressed as formally as usual - dress shirt, slacks, and surprisingly, barefoot - but neither is he in the same state the last time they were in this room together. “Same can’t be said for you.”

10k deflects Murphy’s compulsion to sit until Murphy relents, spreading his hands. 10k gets the impression that Murphy is testing him.

“Have it your way.”

“Like you ever gave me a choice,” 10k bites, stumbling the few feet to the bed and sitting down heavily. He still feels half-asleep; groggy and slurring his words. “You bit me first. You started… all this. What have you done…”

He leans his shoulder against the bedpost, as far away from Murphy as he can get. He tries to gather his thoughts but they resist his every effort. His entire body is screaming for him to close the distance and press as much of himself against Murphy. Murphy smooths the blanket on the bed between them, then leaves his hand there, in no-man’s land. 10k closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool, polished wood of the post. He wants to sleep. He wants… He  _ wants _ .

“Look, could you quiet down the hormones? I’m doin’ what I can over here but- you gotta help me out.” 10k rolls his head to look at Murphy. The man is clutching at the opposite pole like it’s a lifeline, his face contorted into a grimace. He grunts before continuing. “It thought it’d be easier if I didn’t have to fight you but without your white-knuckled stubborn denial… Sometimes I forget you’re so young.”

Then it clicks.

“You- You drugged me?” He knows it’s true but it comes out a slurred question. “Dinner…”

He should have known.

“I did. My mistake. I shoulda-” And then Murphy is close. He’s slid across the safe space between them and he’s touching 10k. “Shoulda tried… to talk…”

Murphy lightly traces his fingers over the back of 10k’s neck, nails making 10k shiver. He whimpers and wraps his arms around his bedpost. He knows it’s only a matter of time until he gives in. The inevitability of it makes the resistance sweet.

“Never were good at talking, were we kid?” Murphy whispers, leaning in close and brushing his lips against the bite he’d placed there months ago. Something inside 10k breaks.

He scrambles awkwardly onto his knees and over Murphy. Murphy doesn’t even look surprised. He looks smug… and relieved. His hands slip up 10k’s legs to grip at his hips.

“Tommy…”

“Shut. Up. Don’t call me that.” He leans down and hisses against Murphy’s lips.

“It’s your name, isn’t it? Callin’ you  _ 10k _ …” Murphy pulls at 10k’s hips, rocking up against him. There’s no use pretending what’s going on anymore. He wants to fuck Murphy. He wants to fuck him; to make him shut his stupid mouth. “Am I just another number to you? Which number will I be? Where’d you leave off? Three-thousand-an-”

“No,” 10k immediately grits out, unable to keep from grinding down against Murphy. It’s so much better than either of their dreams.. “You’re not- not like-”

“Well…” Murphy teases, but his voice is breathless. “You’ve certainly changed your tune.”

“Like you had nothing to do with-” Murphy cuts him off by grabbing him by his hair and yanking him down for a kiss. 10k doesn’t know if it’s the pain or the kiss or everythingeverything _ everything _ , but he suddenly feels lucid.

But instead of pushing Murphy away like he normally would do - like he  _ should  _ do - he presses him down into the mattress, bracketing his ridiculous patchwork face between his hands and kissing him back. This man has taken everything away from him - his sense of self, his family, his place in this world - but he’s also saved his life and given 10k this - whatever this is.

_ Connection _ .

10k wants more. He wants to see how far he -  _ they  _ \- can push it. He wants Murphy. He accepts it this time, instead of fighting it. He gives in.

That’s the apocalypse for you. Always giving you what you least expected in the most painful way possible.

He breaks the kiss. He’s rough about it - fingers digging into Murphy’s hairline and knees squeezing his sides - but Murphy just grins up at him like he’s won some prize. 10k realises he can  _ feel _ it. Murphy is pleased that he can’t control 10k; pleased that 10k wants him independently of the dreams and the mind fuck of their unexpected connection.

Murphy is… flattered.

“Fuck me, kid,” Murphy growls up at him, pulling at the zip of 10k’s jumpsuit until he can slip his palms underneath and span his ribs.

“Don’t call me kid.” 10k surprises himself with how sharp his voice comes out; how loud in the dim room. Murphy stills.

“Yeah… okay…” he whispers, tone surprised and for once, genuine. “I want you to fuck me, Thomas. Please.”

10k hates that Murphy knows his name but he can’t hide the shiver that vibrates up his spine. He grits his teeth at the satisfied smile that slowly spreads across Murphy’s lips. He still wants to; wants to- to  _ fuck _ this maddening man, but all he has to go on are the vague urges of his body and the rude stories he’s heard over the years.

“Show me…,” he asks -  _ begs _ \- Murphy. 10k doesn’t know where it comes from. He doesn’t know how he knows it, but it slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Alvin…”

The smile melts off Murphy’s face and if anything, that’s worse than the bravado; vulnerability and care. 10k doesn’t want Murphy to care about him.

Murphy slides his hands up to 10k’s shoulders and pushes the top half of his jumpsuit down his arms. He sits up and kisses 10k again, fingers fumbling with the belt impeding the path of the zipper. It’s all 10k can do to hold onto Murphy’s shoulders and try to keep up. Murphy gets the buckle unfastened and pauses, catching 10k’s eye.

“You sure?” 10k shakes his head. He’s nervous and overwhelmed but knows he’s going to do this anyway. He thinks he’s known for quite a while now. Murphy draws his hands away slowly, taking a deep breath and letting it out shakily.

“No!” 10k grabs his hands and places them back where they’d been; maybe a bit lower. “Please…”

There’s no sly smile this time. Murphy cups 10k’s erection through the black material. The noise that escapes 10k is mortifying but he ruts into the heat of Murphy’s palm.

“Jesus, ki- Tommy.” Murphy gapes up at him. 10k shakes his hands free of his sleeves and wraps one around Murphy’s throat. He gives himself over to the lingering uninhibited giddiness of whatever Murphy had slipped him.

He tightens his grip and feels a zing of alarm and satisfaction from Murphy, then Murphy’s guiding him - not with his hands, but with his mind. 10k submits, letting his hands… his hips… his body move as if he were a puppet. For a moment, fear grips him; not being in control is like falling, both freeing and terrifying. Murphy pulls him down with a hand around his wrist and kisses him.

“ _ Tommy _ …” It’s Murphy’s voice in his head. It’s Murphy in his head. It’s Murphy in his  _ body _ .

And then suddenly, he’s gone. 10k feels as though his strings have been cut. He sags and Murphy catches him, arms around him.

“You have to trust me,” Murphy whispers into 10k’s ear.

“I don’t have to do anything.” 10k slowly peels Murphy’s arms away from him and pins them to the bed. He keeps them there with his will and Murphy smiles wickedly up at him. He won’t let Murphy control him like one of his blends, but he doesn’t sever the connection. “And you don’t either.”

“And you wonder why I like yo-” 10k cuts Murphy off by kissing him again. The open communication between them is almost worse than being controlled by Murphy. 10k feels flayed open, like his very innards are on display. Murphy can feel what he feels. The compulsion towards action isn’t there anymore, but Murphy’s suggestions - his instincts and desires - are still there.

10k pulls back, pops the button on Murphy’s slacks and yanks them down. The few seconds it takes to pull them completely off is too long, and 10k clambers back onto the bed between Murphy’s lean thighs. He’s hard and already leaking precome. Murphy groans, an intense, self-satisfied wave of emotion rolling through 10k.

“Shut up,” he growls up at Murphy, even though he’s not sure if it’s coming from him. He carefully wraps his fingers around Murphy’s cock. He doesn’t want to linger like this, but the novelty is strange. He’s only ever done this with himself and Murphy is…  _ strange _ . Still, his erection twitches in the restrictive pants of his jumpsuit.

His erection isn’t much bigger than 10k’s own, but it’s mottled - blue-purple and peach - like the rest of him, flushed darker at the tip. Murphy strains at the mental hold 10k has on him. He could break it, easily, but he merely presses against it, arching his back.

“Lube…” Murphy points towards the pillows. 10k stretches up and over him, his breath catching when Murphy nips at the thin skin along his ribs. He settles back with a small tub of petroleum jelly. 10k’s only ever seen the stuff used for first aid or waterproofing. He dips two fingers into the greasy gel and rubs it between his fingers. He’d never considered-

“What do I-” Murphy grunts in irritation.

“Do I have to spell everything out for you?” 10k can hear the implied  _ kid _ in Murphy’s tone and he clenches his jaw. He drops the jar and pulls his cock free. The grease makes it easier to stroke himself.

“ _ Oh _ …” Murphy smiles up at him and tugs at him through their connection:  _ Now. Like this. _

10k wedges his knees under Murphy’s thighs. Murphy bends his knees and tilts his hips, panting. 10k leans forward, planting a hand next to Murphy’s head. With his other hand, he brings the head of his cock to Murphy’s hole. He knows what to do. He wants it. But he pauses.

“ _ Now _ what?” Murphy makes an throaty, annoyed noise that undermines his irritated words.

“If we do this, I want my freedom.”

“I-” 10k pushes into Murphy suddenly. It’s so tight, it’s nearly painful. Murphy gasps and clenches his eyes shut. “ _ Fuck… _ As if I could hold you now.”

10k pulls out and thrusts. He rucks Murphy’s shirt up. His bite mark is livid against his pale blue-white skin even in the dim light. He wants to mark up more of that skin. Instead, he bows over and licks slowly over the teeth marks. He vaguely remembers Murphy doing this to him in one of the dreams. He wonders if Murphy remembers.

“I remember,” the man whispers. His hands aren’t prone anymore. They’re clutching at 10k, encouraging the way he’s moving his hips. He’s breathing hard into 10k’s ear. “What am I going to do with you, huh? Can’t- can’t let you leave… can’t have- you stay. Want you… all the time…”

“You’ll have to trust me.” The words slip from 10k’s lips before he realises he’s echoing Murphy’s words back at him.

Murphy’s hands are in his hair, pulling his head back. Those strange, wonderful eyes look at him intensely.

“I’d be a fool to.” He licks into 10k’s mouth and for long, slick, hot moments, 10k forgets to guard against Murphy consciousness. He’s caught up in a dizzying feedback loop of friction and need, then Murphy’s pulling away. “I am such a fool.”

10k can’t speak. He latches onto Murphy in his mind, opens himself up. He’s a white-hot blank, like a drought stricken sky, burning up from the inside, and Murphy is looking up at him as though he’s something wondrous. The muscles in his stomach and thighs clench. He’s close but all he can do is let out a strangled whine against Murphy’s lips. He’s going to come. Murphy slips his hand around the back of 10k’s neck, palm covering the bite there, and suddenly… he’s fine. Murphy is holding him back.

10k whines again.

“Such a young buck. Patience,” Murphy breathes, working his other hand between them and wrapping it around his cock. 10k can feel Murphy’s knuckles against his stomach; how it feels to Murphy, fingers tight around his erection. 10k pushes the sensations he’s feeling into Murphy’s head. The man jerks as if electrocuted. “ _ Oh fuck-” _

White noise fills him up - taut, from the base of his spine and through his body - and he curls over Murphy, pressing their mouths together painfully. He can’t separate his own pleasure from Murphy’s but it doesn’t matter, the tension that’s been spooling low in his belly snaps and he’s coming.

The next thing he knows are Murphy’s hands on his cheeks - one of them sticky with come. The man kisses him desperately, briefly, and then shoves 10k off of him. 10k sprawls face up next to him on the bed. His jumpsuit is bunched around the tops of his thighs. There’s come on his stomach and chest. It’s a mess. But for a moment, 10k lets his mind remain blank. 

There are water stains on the ceiling.

“Betcha didn’t think your first time would be like that,” Murphy whispers into the dark. His voice is already composed and 10k can’t bring himself to look over at him. He doesn’t want to see the walls going back up. He can feel them being erected between them by Murphy. For his part, he can’t summon the strength. What’s the point, now that everything’s been laid bare? “Or with me.”

10k shakes his head. This won’t happen again. It can’t.

Beside him, Murphy sits up and reaches for his slacks on the floor. He slowly puts them back on and then goes to stand in front of one of the windows. Finally, 10k makes himself look. The silhouette Murphy paints against the night sky looks defeated - shoulders bowed, head leaning so that his forehead is pressed against the glass.

“You have to leave,” Murphy sighs. “Please. You have to- before the sun rises. I’ll- I’ll make sure you have supplies… ammo… whatever you want.”

“You let me go, you know where I’m going.” 10k levers himself up and scoots to the end of the bed. He pulls his pants up enough so that he’s covered; so that he can buckle his belt.

“I know.” There’s a challenge in the statement; something fatalistic. “But you’re too much of a distraction here and I-”

10k waits for him to finish his thought, but Murphy doesn’t continue. It doesn’t matter. He thinks he knows what he was going to say.

Murphy doesn’t want to force him to stay here. He wants 10k to stay of his own accord, but he knows that even with this between him, 10k won’t.

“They’ll come for you.” It’s a warning. He’s goading Murphy. 10k wants him to fight. He knows how to handle the man when he’s combative. He doesn’t know what to do with this Murphy, acting like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I know. But they’ll come anyway. With or without you.” Murphy turns away from the window. All he is to 10k is a shadow of the man; a mere outline. “I’m hoping you’ll make a difference.”

10k catches movement out of the corner of his eye and he jumps to his feet, zipping himself back into his jumpsuit as quickly as possible. He cringes at the evidence still smeared across his skin. 

It’s Will. Murphy had summoned him without 10k sensing it. The walls truly are up again. 10k can’t help but feel disappointed.

Murphy doesn’t acknowledge him again as Will ushers him out of the room, but he can feel the man’s eyes on him long after he’s out of sight.

\---

The sun is rising and 10k pauses to look back at the town - the river, the powerstation, and one particular window. It glitters, winking as the morning light reflects off of it. He can still feel Murphy’s eyes on him. He knows that feeling won’t leave him any time soon.

In the warm light of day, questions fill him up: Why him? What did Murphy see in him? What made him different from the dozens of others that Murphy had bitten? Why was Murphy so scared- of him… himself… the future? Why had he sent 10k away when all he was doing was inviting disaster to his doorstep?

He’d been escorted past the encampment by Will, who had left him with a sneer. He has a pack full of supplies, his rifle, and more ammo than he’s ever had at any one time.

And still he feels torn, with less of a place in the world than ever before. He knows he’s going back to Warren, but for a moment, he considers walking away from it all; leaving this whole mess behind - The Murphy and Cassandra and the chaos of tying his life to others.

He wants to believe that Murphy is manipulating him. It’s so much harder to wrap his head around the possibility that the man  _ cares _ about him. Or even worse, that 10k returns Murphy’s sentiment. It isn’t love, it isn’t friendship; nothing as simple as that. It’s ugly and destructive and he can’t turn his back on it. He can’t run away from it, no matter how much he wishes.

10k turns on his heel and heads southwest. He’ll be back soon enough. As the miles pass under his feet, he can still feel Murphy in his head, like a tether pulled taught.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Twenty One Pilots' Jumpsuit.
> 
> "I'll be right there  
> But you'll have to grab my throat and lift me in the air  
> If you need anyone, I'll stop my plans  
> But you'll have to tie me down and then break both my hands  
> If you need anyone."
> 
> For something that began as a way for me to mourn the cancellation of this wonderful show, it kind of took on a life of it's own. There's a very real chance that this may turn into a series. I have an idea for a short prequel and I'm brainstorming their reunion (because I can't just... leave it like this).
> 
> Thank you so much to my friend and ZN beta, B. This wouldn't have happened without you. <3
> 
> Follow me on Twitter: @thehartbelieves


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